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Heather L. Colburn back and forth between the kitchen and Eileen didn't much like working at Flo's. On her feet all night, running the dining room, answering to drunk customers who didn't want pickles on their grilled-cheese sandwiches. Then when she came to clean up she saw they had protested the pickles on the sand- plastic bottle, leaving a huge mess all over the Formica table. wiches by squirting ketchup out of the Rubbermaid dishpan and fill it up with hot water and Epsom salts. After she took off her white orthopedic shoes and stripped off her Barely Tan stockings, Eileen would just sit in the kitchen of her trailer without any lights on and soak her feet. Usually the phone would ring, but hours, the last thing in the world that Eileen had patience for was talking to Roger. school. That was fifteen years ago. in the morning and pull out the purple She would go home after work at 5:00 school everyone said was record time. Now Roger worked over at the Weirton plant, like almost everyone else Eileen had known in high school. He went out West right after graduation, saying he was never coming
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Jan 8, 1991
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